


An Extra Pair of Eyes

by spikesgirl58



Series: Working Stiffs [9]
Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His job was to keep Napoleon, Section One No. 1, safe.  What he didn't count on was Napoleon's grandson.</p><p>A Cross with Mouth of Babes</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Extra Pair of Eyes

Law enforcement has always run in my family.  My dad was a cop and his dad before him and his dad’s dad… well, you get the idea.  It was a given that I would head into law enforcement, but I’d always thought I was destined to be one of NYPD’s finest. 

Then one day, I jumped into the Hudson to save a little kid from drowning and the next day, there was this little old man knocking on my door.  He handed me a card that was destined to change my life.  I’m not saying working for UNCLE is easy.  It’s a world of secrets and half truths.  You never really know what master you are dancing to – at least not at first.  You learn to do your job as best you can and not ask questions.  You just fulfill the assignment to the best of your abilities. 

When I came out of Survival School, I had two choices: Section Two or Section Three.  Section Two always seems to be everyone’s first choice and the competition is fierce, but I was happy with Section Three.  You tend to stay home more, providing local security and keeping UNCLE safe.

I am not sure if that was what resulted in my rapid promotion, but I rose through the ranks at lightning speed.  Then one morning, I was called into my Section head’s office.  This is enough to make most people wet their pants; even big brave Section Two agents tend to run and hide when my boss is out and about.  Mr. Kuryakin has that effect on people and I think he likes it that way.

Not complaining though, he’s a good boss – hard, but fair and supportive.  He never asks you to do something he hasn’t done or isn’t willing to do himself.  You do your job and he has your back.  Try to fake it or lie to him and you’ve got a one way ticket to another Section, if not out of UNCLE entirely.  He doesn’t tolerate fools.

This is why I was a little confused about being called into his office.  I am very careful and conscientious about my assignments, I’m on time, and I rarely call in sick or take personal time off.  I do the job I was hired to, so I couldn’t think of what he wanted me for.

He was on the phone when I entered, arguing in a language that I couldn’t identify.  No big surprise there because I only speak French and Spanish.  You have to be able to speak at least two just to get inside UNCLE’s front door, but Mr. Kuryakin is a language whiz.

He gestured me to a chair and continued the conversation, but it kept switching from one language to another as if he couldn’t make up his mind which one to settle on.   I spent the time staring at the book case.  There were a couple of framed photos there.  One is of him and our Section One Number One, Napoleon Solo.  They used to be partners in Section Two back in the day.  Then Mr. Waverly died and Mr. Solo moved up the chain of command.  Mr. Kuryakin came out of the field and was promoted or demoted, depending on who you talk to, to the head of Section Three.

The other photo was of a family: man, woman and four kids, all under six – the kids, not the man and woman, I mean.  I didn’t know who they were although the guy looked familiar.  Mr. Kuryakin’s office wasn’t the sort of place where you could just get up and look at stuff, so I just sat.

“ _Merde,”_ Mr. Kuryakin said, hanging up the phone and then he noticed me.  “Mr. Philips.”

“Sir.”

“You are, no doubt, wondering why you are here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have been handpicked for a very special assignment.”  He sat, a little stiffly, like his back hurt or something.  “One of Mr. Solo’s personal bodyguards is retiring and you have been selected to replace him.  I don’t have to stress the importance of this assignment.”

“No, sir.”  I tried to keep my voice from shaking.  This was about as big an assignment as a Section Three could get.  I was overjoyed, I was terrified.  I wanted to run to the roof and scream, but didn’t know if it was from happiness or sheer terror.

“You will report to Mr. Reynolds and he will go over your duties.  Dismissed”

 

It’s strange how your world can suddenly change in a matter of a few minutes.  That morning I walked in just a regular agent and that evening I left assigned to protect our leader.   That night I couldn’t sleep, just stared at the ceiling and wondered what it would be like.  It was nothing like I imagined.  I thought I’d meet important people, rub elbows with the movers and shakers of the world.  I learned a valuable lesson about what some people view as important.

For Mr. Solo, it wasn’t so much the heads of states that he met with on a regular basis; it wasn’t the various meetings around the world, although I saw more of that than I ever imagined I would.  For Mr. Solo, the most precious thing in his life was his grandchildren. 

Not too many people even knew he had a son, much less a daughter-in-law and four grandkids – the same ones that were in the photo in Mr. Kuryakin’s office.  It wasn’t until about a month after coming onto this assignment that someone explained that Mr. Solo’s son and Mr. Kuryakin’s daughter were married and had kids. 

Of course, we weren’t part of that inner circle as it were, even though we stood at the perimeter and kept it secure.  Our job was to watch from afar and permit Mr. Solo as much of a normal life with them as possible.  I got to go to afternoon baseball games, kid movies, school events, you name it, and Mr. Solo was there.  Sometimes Mr. Kuryakin was around as well, but not always.  I think he might have had some health issues that he kept pretty quiet about at HQ.  He didn’t talk about it; we didn’t ask.  That wasn’t what we were there for.  Our job was to merely protect and keep our mouths shut.

It was one of those days that was just begging for something to happen.  The sky was so blue it hurt your eyes to look at it and the clouds looked like puffy marshmallows, all white and perfect.  Mr. Solo was coming up to stay for the week, a self imposed vacation, I guess, since he pretty much worked all the rest of the time.   We’d been all over the cabin and the ones surrounding it.  The area was pretty exclusive and their security was tight.  Nothing compared to ours, of course; they were used to dealing with movie stars, tycoons, political heads, but not someone as important as Mr. Solo.

Even with us on the perimeter, Mr. Kuryakin was there as well, acting I guess as Mr. Solo’s own personal body guard since they were staying in the same cabin and all.

Now I have to say something here.  When I first got this job, people came up to me.  “Is it true?” they would ask.

“Is what true?” I’d say back.

“About them.”  And their eyebrows would waggle or their fingers would flutter. 

It took me a while to figure out what they meant and that’s when I sort of lost it.  I got written up for punching out one Section Two over it.  I got a reprimand from Mr. Solo himself when I took on a handful of them after work one night.  And then I got a raise from Mr. Kuryakin, go figure.

First off, it wasn’t anyone’s business, not even mine.  Second, yeah, they are close, probably as close as two men can be, but I never saw anything untoward or unseemly.   They lived together, two confirmed bachelors, enjoying what they could out of life, namely their mutual grandkids, and that was it.  What they did or didn’t do when they were alone together, I don’t think it’s anyone’s business but their own.

Okay, so we had been over the cabin… no, wait I said that already, so we were walking our patrol when a nondescript car came rolling up.  We already knew it was Mr. Solo and his driver.  Anthony had alerted us that they were on their way in. 

The car pulled up and I leaned down to open the car door.  Mr. Solo’s oldest grandson, Alex, bounced out, easily eluding Mr. Solo, so I wrapped an arm around his waist and caught him, swinging him up.  He giggled as only a five year old could and then he realized it was a stranger, well, near stranger holding him and he got very quiet, staring at me with huge blue eyes. 

“Thank you, Mr. Philips.” Mr. Solo started to climb from the car.  “Alex, remember our little talk on the way up?”

“About why girls are better than mud puddles?”

“No, the other little talk, about not running off…”

I was about to drop Alex back to the ground when I heard something, or felt something, or I don’t know.  One minute, the sun was shining, the birds were singing and then suddenly people were shouting and the all-too familiar _pop pop_ of gun fire was all around us.

Instinctively, I pushed Mr. Solo back into the car, slammed the door shut and fell to the ground, covering the child with my body.  I could hear Mr. Solo shouting as the car sped away, bullets ricocheting off the bulletproof armor.  He pounded against the glass in a futile attempt to reach us.

 

The second there was a break in the shooting, I got to my feet and sprinted into a small storage shed.  It wasn’t a primo hiding spot, but at least with only one door, it was defensible.  I slammed the door shut as bullets bit great chunks of wood from the frame and spat them at me. The lock was laughable, so, one-handed, I dragged a crate in front of it and crouched behind it.

That’s when the adrenaline started to back off a little and I was conscious of trembling.  Not mine, but of the little guy I was still holding against my chest.

I’m not good with kids, not really.  They’re loud, unpredictable and they talk non-stop, but I hadn’t heard a peep from this one since the shooting started.

I pulled him away from me and looked at him.  “How are you holding up, little guy?”

“Alex, my name is Alex.”  He rubbed an eye with the knuckles of one hand.

“Alex, I’m Alex too.”

“You are?”   There were more shots fired and a couple chuffed into the planking above our head.  I got as low to the ground as possible, keeping my body between him and the bullets.  “Is my Grampy okay?”

“I think your grandfather is fine.”  I went to check for the clips in my pocket and that’s when I felt something warm.  Huh, I’d been shot and hadn’t even felt it.  Worse than that, I’d been shot in the arm holding Solo’s grandkid.  If my arm hadn’t been in the way… I shook my head to clear it.  I wasn’t even going to go there.

“You’re hurt.”  He touched the glistening red with a dirt-stained forefinger.

“I am.”  I got my jacket off and grimaced at the mess that had been my shirt sleeve .  “Alex, can you help me?”  I pulled out my handkerchief and he took it as I ripped the sleeve off

“Uh, huh, I’m a good solider; Poppy showed me.”

I didn’t know who the hell Poppy was and didn’t very much care.  I set the gun down and held out the blood soaked cloth to him.  “Would you wrap that around my arm?”

I held the handkerchief over the entrance wound and he did as he was asked, his eyes darting all around as he listened to shouts and shots being exchanged.  Where these guys had been hiding was a mystery, but not one I was worried about at the moment.  “Okay, now I want you to hold that end as hard as you can.”  I got the cloth as tight as I could with one hand and the help of a five year old.  At least I wouldn’t bleed out quite so fast. 

“You’re really brave,” I said, even as he nestled back down against me.  There was a red border starting to cloud my vision and I took a few deep breaths.  I was going to pass out soon.  “Alex, do you know how to shoot a gun?”

“Grampy says guns aren’t toys.”  The response was mechanical.  He’d heard that line a few times.

“I agree, but do you know how to shoot a gun.”

“Poppy’s teaching me.  Go for the chest and then the kill shot. Don’t stop shooting until you run out of bullets.”

Whoever the hell this Poppy guy was, he sounded pretty damned ruthless.  “Alex, I’m going to hold on as long as I can, but if I pass out, you need to defend yourself.  Do you understand?”

“Uh huh,” Alex mumbled, rubbing at his cheek.  That’s when I noticed he’d gotten banged up as well.  I turned his head so I could examine his face.  He’d gotten scraped and bruised a little, but it wasn’t bad.

“Really brave.”  I checked the clip as I heard the rustle of someone approaching.

“I really want Poppy.”  He was doing his best to make himself as small as possible now.

“I know… shh.”  I tucked his head into my chest.

“We know you have the kid, UNCLE.”  The voice was too close for my tastes.  “Give him to us and we might do you a favor.”  I almost had him pinpointed. 

I bobbed up and shouted. “What kind of favor?” Then I dropped back to the relative safety of the floor.  Unless they were in the trees, they would be aiming high. 

“We might just kill you and not take you prisoner.”  The shots were well over my head, but it was enough for me to get a bead.  I fired back, the shed practically imploding with the sound of the Walther letting go. Alex grabbed his ears and curled up into a ball.

There was a scream and more shots.  The best I could do was to keep on the ground and pray that Alex didn’t lose it completely.  Not that I would blame him if he did.

There was a second round of gunfire, but there was something new this time.  The shots were higher pitched and faster.  Definitely on the offensive.  I guessed that our reinforcements had arrived and were taking care of business.

Then nothing but silence and it was deafening.  After a few seconds, I felt secure enough to get up.  Alex started to move and I held a hand up.

“No, Alex, stay still, I’m not sure if it’s…”

“Philips?  Mr. Philips?”  I wanted to whoop when I heard Mr. Kuryakin’s voice shouting in the distance, but the little boy on the floor started crying then, great huge gulping wails.  He’d reached his limit and I didn’t blame him one bit.  I wanted to cry too.

“It’s okay…” I started and then the door was forced opened.  Reflex sent me back to the ground and over the sobbing child.  If it was THRUSH, they’d have to kill me to get to him.

“Mr. Philips?” I was never so happy to hear my boss’s voice in my life, but it was nothing compared to the reaction of the little guy.  He wiggled out from beneath me in a heartbeat and wrapped his arms around Mr. Kuryakin’s neck, his sobs heart wrenching.

“Shh, Alex, you’re all right.”  He rocked the child back and forth and caressed the back of his head.  I could see his hand was trembling and I knew he’d been as scared as I was.  He pushed the child away at arm’s length and regarded him.  “That’s enough now, calm down.”

“Yes, Poppy.”  Ah, it all made sense now, in a fuzzy, ‘I’m about to pass out’ kinda way. 

“You don’t want Irina to see you like this, do you?  She’s just outside.  She’s very small and very scared right now.”

“She’s a girl.”  Alex wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt and Mr. Kuryakin shook his head and dug out his handkerchief.

“Blow,” he said and it sounded just as normal as if he’d been lecturing a room full of green Section Three’s on explosives.  With his other hand, Mr. Kuryakin pulled out his communicator.  “Open Channel D, please.”

“Illya?”  I could hear the panic in the Old Man’s voice.

“It’s all right, Napoleon, everyone is all right.”  He looked over at me, noticing my arm for the first time in the dim light of the shed.  “Although I think Mr. Philips could use an ambulance.”

“Alex?”

“He’s fine, Napoleon.  A little…”  The boy’s eyes widened and I saw the gentlest, kindest smile I’d ever seen radiate across Mr. Kuryakin’s face.  “Solider.  He was very brave.”

“So was Mr. Alex.”  I saw the look shift from grandson to me and Mr Kuryakin nodded. 

“Yes, and so was Mr. Alex.”  He might have said more, but at the point passing out felt really, really good…

                                                                                       *******

So, that’s my story.  It took me a few weeks to get back to work and PT was a pain in the ass, but I was back on the job before the leaves started changing.  Came back to find I had my choice of assignments.  That was nice, but I went back to my old job.  I liked watching out for folks and I felt vested now.

I got a nice commendation for bravery, a medal, a solid raise, but the best award of all was a crayon drawing of a stick figure, with fangs!, wearing a red band around one arm and holding a gun the size of my head, and the words ’thank you’ neatly printed, followed by ‘Alex,’ written in a five year old hand with the ‘E’ on its back.  The commendation and medal I stuck in a drawer, but the drawing I posted by my desk so it’s the first thing I see coming in the morning and the last thing I see leaving at night.   Law enforcement is fine and all, but I really stay for the perks.

 

 

 


End file.
